Tears Of An Angel
by Hannah Pendragon
Summary: When Hermione falls seriously ill, Draco realises how much he can't live (or love) without her. Major Dramione ship. Set in their fourth-year. No Tri-Wizard tournament. Enjoy!
1. A Less-Than-Perfect Beginning

**A/N: I have taken some of the lessons and school work from the HP books because I don't have JK Rowling's genius streak and can't create my own. Oh, she also owns the entire franchise – I don't – this is only for fans and I don't make a single Galleon from it.**

**This chapter is dedicated to my good friend, Alice, who I love **

A Less-Than-Perfect Beginning

"_Mr Malfoy!"_

Professor Sprout's frosty voice cut across his conversation with Crabbe about his father's work at the Ministry. Draco looked at his annoyed teacher with a lazy, arrogant contempt.

"Is my lesson disturbing your little chat?"

_Merlin's beard, they thought they were so witty_. Draco didn't reply but his lip curled a little as he continued to glare at Professor Sprout.

"Perhaps if you were separated from your friends, you wouldn't have as much to talk about. Move yourself, and pair with..." Professor Sprout scanned the greenhouse. "Miss Granger."

Hermione scowled at the professor in outrage. What had she done wrong to get _Malfoy_ of all people landed in her lap? Draco's expression hardened, and he sneered across the room at Hermione to look her up and down. How dare Professor Sprout pair him with that Mudblood? His father would be horrified if he knew what close contact he had had with these _Muggles_ in these three and a half years at Hogwarts. It was Dumbledore's fault, his father had been right about...

"Mr Malfoy, have you sunk into some sort of trance or did you simply fail to understand my instruction?"

"So unfair!" he muttered under his breath to Crabbe, who glowered menacingly at the Gryffindors on his behalf.

Professor Sprout was a stupid old hag, Draco decided sourly as he slung his bag over his shoulder and slouched over to where the Mudblood was stood, glaring at him. He sat on the very edge of his seat, as far away from his new partner as possible, highlighting his displeasure at this arrangement.

Hermione was not happy. She did not deserve this. It was hot in the greenhouse anyway; no air circulated, and tempers had been running high for days. The sky was grey and overcast, but it was hot and humid, and no one liked it except Hagrid's cauliflowers, which were now the size of small trees. Professor Sprout seemed in an uncharacteristically bad mood, and Hermione was rapidly plummeting further into one. Ron and Harry shot her sympathetic looks as Professor Sprout announced that they would be revising the collecting of Bubotuber pus.

"Remember the pus is extremely valuable," she called as the rest of the class paired up. "And remember to wear your dragon-hide gloves!"

"Why?" Michael Corner called out.

"It is dangerous for the skin when undiluted," the teacher retorted irritably. "But it is an excellent acne remedy... so don't waste it! Honestly, Corner, did you listen to nothing I said last year?"

The class busied themselves with retrieving the plant pots and pulling their gloves on, and the hum of chat rose as the lesson descended into full swing.

Draco and Hermione didn't so much look in each other's direction as speak a word to each other. It seemed to both that the rest of the class was enjoying the lesson far more than they usually would. Draco scowled as he lifted the first of the ugly plants onto their table.

Hermione bravely squeezed the first disgusting, slightly squirming Bubotuber. Draco caught the thick yellowish green liquid in a bottle and stoppered it tightly with a cork. Neither spoke, but worked in stony silence, as they repeated this process. The greenhouse slowly filled with a strong odour of petrol as the class steadily filled the bottles.

From the castle, a loud, booming bell sounded across the slope of the lawn, bringing the lesson to a quick halt. Professor Sprout dismissed them, and Draco took the opportunity to leave the greenhouse as quickly as he could with Crabbe and Goyle puffing and panting up the lawn behind him.

Although Harry and Ron tried to be careful around Hermione, her bad temper did not lift for the entirety of a Charms lesson. She cast her perfect spell without much effort or speech, but smiled when Flitwick awarded five points to Gryffindor.

Harry and Ron were pleased to see their friend was cheering up, mainly because there was a Transfiguration theory essay that both were struggling to write a half-decent conclusion for, and the rest of the day was spent in uneventful routine.

...

The very next day, the brewing storm broke over the castle, and sent sheets of rain hammering down from the black sky. The air seemed fresher, and everyone seemed happier, but that didn't stop Draco's relentless sniping. He had recovered from the unreasonable lesson spent with Hermione yesterday, and punished Harry and Ron for it instead, especially in Double Potions that afternoon where he knew he was safe from harm as Snape's favourite pupil. He had always been able to get away with anything in that dungeon.

The three Gryffindors could barely have a peaceful ten minutes without Malfoy wondering over and dropping a snide and sneering remark. The first came barely seven minutes into the lesson when Ron and Draco both reached for the same knife in the store cupboard.

"Too slow, Weaselby!" Draco crowed triumphantly, then; "No wonder you don't get fed at home with such slow reflexes."

Ron went red and wisely clamped his mouth together in an effort not to retort. He simply reached for a rather rusty old scalpel, returned to his table muttering swear words under his breath, and began slicing his caterpillars at top speed, accidently decapitating one in his annoyance.

"Just ignore him," Hermione intoned, as Draco began a loud and lengthy discussion with his Slytherin cronies about how long Hagrid would last at Hogwarts, knowing it was a sensitive subject with Potter and his mates after that whole Buckbeak episode last year.

"If my father has anything to do with it, that great oaf will be locked in Azkaban for his own safety," Draco was saying noisily. "We should take bets..."

Harry added a dash of leech juice to his simmering potion and imagined all the different ways in which one could kill a Malfoy. He knew Draco only wanted a reaction from him, no doubt to give Snape the excuse of docking twenty points from Gryffindor. Snape didn't consider it a successful lesson unless Neville was cowering in the corner and fifty odd points had been taken from his least favourite house.

However, the last straw came when Draco, Crabbe and Goyle passed by the Gryffindor table, where three successful potions were brewing in a hazy cloud of mist. Goyle tripped on a deceptively flat bit of floor and barged into the table, knocking all three cauldrons flying.

Harry and Ron turned on Malfoy in outrage and began bellowing at him, but Snape had swooped onto the scene within a few seconds.

"Potter tripped Goyle, sir!" Draco exclaimed in what he clearly thought was a convincing voice, before shooting a malicious grin in their direction.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said smoothly, with a particularly unpleasant smile at Harry. "And all three of you can spend detention straight after the lesson cleaning out these cauldrons without magic."

Harry opened his mouth, but bit his lip when Hermione gave him a hard kick under the table as she glared at Draco with undisguised hatred. He wanted to strangle Malfoy, that lying, slimy...

Their detention was spent in boredom (smiling was an offence punishable by death in Snape's eyes) and gruelling work. Harry's knuckles had been rubbed raw by the time he had finished his line of thirty or so first-year cauldrons and Hermione's eyes were smarting from the putrid smell emanating off one of the cauldrons.

Meanwhile, Draco, who usually never felt guilty, experienced the slightest twitch of conscience deep inside, and not the standard victory at having triumphed over that Gryffindor prince, _Potter_. He recalled the look that Granger had given him and felt something that wasn't quite regret, but surprisingly close. He pushed the unwelcome reaction back, slung his arm round Pansy's shoulders and began telling her an animated story in which he had almost been killed by a mountain troll in the Easter holidays.

Pansy simpered and giggled, and snuggled up to him, but Draco didn't find any satisfaction in having this effect on a girl. He ran a hand through his hair, realised he was overly tired, and went to bed early, trying not to dwell on Granger and her stupid friends.

**A/N: Sorry, this chapter's quite short, I promise the next one will be longer **

**Remember to review!**


	2. A Slytherin Heart

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to EnderBlaze23 for her support and being my first ever reviewer :)**

**Yes, two chapters in one day!**

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A Slytherin Heart

Draco did not like the feeling he had experienced a few days ago, but he couldn't seem to forget about it. He was sure he'd be perfectly happy to live the rest of his life without having that twinge in his chest. It made him feel weak; something he could _never_ be, so he swallowed it down and hoped it would never resurface.

"Draco, no matter what you are dreaming of now, I am sure it is not as important as your less-than-seamless grade in Potions," Snape cut into his thoughts with a sincerely displeased voice. "Your father has written to me for a report on your progress, and _lacks concentration_ is not what he wants to see."

At these words, Draco's head snapped up, his eyes focused and he paid attention to his godfather, whose office he had been called into after that insufferable History of Magic lesson. Snape's black eyes bored into him, and he avoided eye contact, remembering what his father had said about Occulmency. He definitely hoped Snape couldn't see what, or _who_, he was thinking about; he would not get approval or favour from it.

"Draco!" Snape snapped, short-temperedly. "You are not listening at all. What is the matter with you today?"

"Nothing," Draco mumbled. There was a pause. "I have a headache; can I go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Snape gave a curt nod, and Draco escaped his presence. He did not intend to arrive at the hospital wing, in fact; he was heading for the library. He didn't know why until he saw Mudblood Granger sat at a desk in the corner, writing studiously.

Draco felt irritated when he caught sight of her, as if it was somehow her fault that he was here. He took a seat at a desk opposite her and brought out his eagle-feather quill, a roll of parchment and his Transfiguration book. He began writing so untidily that his first line sloped off the page and the sharp edge of his quill spiked several holes in the parchment.

He tried again with an inconspicuous glance at Hermione. Well, she was pretty, yes, if you liked that quick, fiesty curly-haired Muggle sort of witch who was too clever for her own good. He was deep in thought when a cold female voice came from behind him.

"Excuse me, could you stand up for a moment?"

Hermione was standing right next to his chair, looking at him with the stony gaze that she had perfected over years of arguments with Ron.

"What?" Draco said blankly.

"Please could you move? I can't get to that book otherwise." She repeated.

To Hermione's (and Draco's) surprise, he stood up and moved out of the way. A pink tinge slowly spread across Draco's pale cheeks, and he mentally cursed himself for being so awkward.

"Thanks!"

"Which book is it?"

Hermione glanced sharply at Draco, wondering if he was going to trick her in some way. Her voice involuntarily hardened. "_Ancient Runes Made Easy_. Why?"

Draco reached up and slipped the thick book from its shelf, handing it to Hermione with just a suggestion of a smile. Hermione looked as if she had been Stunned and she took the book from him in shock.

"Thank you," she said, sounding dazed. Her eyes seemed to soften towards him the slightest bit, but she still looked confused.

They both sat down in their seats and dropped their eyes to their work. Draco managed fifteen minutes of writing before looking up to check that Hermione hadn't moved. She was still there; ploughing through a particularly difficult Rune translation.

She felt Draco's gaze on her and looked up. Their locked eyes caused both to blush horribly and look away. Hermione was distinctly embarrassed. Draco had _blushed_. What had come over her? She gave herself a little shake and forced herself to concentrate on her schoolwork. Usually, nothing could distract her from an essay once she got going, especially if it was something as unimportant as dinner.

Meanwhile, Draco was battling with himself and having an inward argument which made him wonder if he was going mad.

_Just go over and talk to her! You need help with this essay – it's terrible._

_She's a filthy Mudblood. I don't want her anywhere near me. I don't even want to breathe the same air as her!_

_Don't be so shallow! She's very pretty isn't she? Who cares that her parents are Muggles?_

_My whole family! I will not be a blood traitor. I will not be the weak link._

_You need the answers. She has the answers. It's just a harmless question about help with Transfiguration homework. Nothing more. What's the worse that could happen?_

Despite the excuses that immediately sprung to mind, Draco cautiously moved across the aisle to Hermione's desk. He sat down. She looked up, and a fleeting look of astonishment crossed her features before settling into a neutral expression.

"Sorry, but I'm really struggling with this essay. Could you give me a hand?"

_Is that the best you can do?_ His brain scoffed.

"I guess," Hermione said warily. "What do you need help with?"

_Score!_

Draco pushed the slip of parchment with the homework task scrawled on and let Hermione scan it. 'Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches.'

Hermione prided herself on being a kind person. She always tried to help those who seemed to be struggling, like Neville in Potions or Harry and Ron in...well...everything. But this was an entirely new situation for her. Never had a Slytherin approached her for her help. And that person was _Malfoy_. It was baffling but, nevertheless, she took his essay from him and ran through it, correcting some atrocious spelling mistakes as she went.

When the bell for dinner rang, instead of feeling the sense of relief he usually felt when homework had been completed, he felt almost... _disappointed_?! Maybe he should check himself into St Mungo's? Was he going crazy?

But Draco wasn't the only one staring absent-mindedly into space throughout dinner. At a different table, far across the Great Hall, Hermione wasn't herself.

"Wha's wrong 'Mione?" Ron asked around a mouthful of mashed potato. "You 'aven't touched your food."

"Hermione?" Neville asked beside her.

"I'm fine," she said, in slight annoyance. "I'm just not very hungry," she raised a disdainful eyebrow, "unlike _some_ people."

Ron glared at her. Hermione sighed. "I don't feel well," she announced. "I'm going to Madam Pomfrey."

"Wait, Hermione-!" Harry began.

She stood up and marched out of the Great Hall without another glance at her friends. She felt bad; why was she feeling like this; why was she treating her friends like this? They were just trying to help.

After a liberal dose of Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up potion and a large amount of thick steam issuing from Hermione's ears, she did feel better and joined her friends in the Gryffindor common-room for a very casual game of wizard chess with Harry, after apologising for her snappy behaviour. Ron and Seamus wasted an evening trying to Levitate an Acid Pop into a snoring prefect's open mouth. At about half past ten, George Weasley ruined their efforts by tiptoeing up to the prefect and dropping it in instead.

Half of the common-room watched apprehensively as an enormous quantity of steam accompanied by a loud sizzling sound filled the common-room. The prefect leapt up with a howl of pain and grabbed his burning tongue before running up the stairs of the boys' dormitory. Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean roared with laughter; Hermione just sniffed and left for the Owlery with a letter to her parents.

The next morning, Ron, Seamus and George seemed surprised when they were reported and spent an unnerving twenty minutes in Professor McGonagall's office, finally emerging with detention that night.

"That prefect really overreacted," Ron sulked over his bacon. "It wasn't that bad."

"You burnt a whole through his tongue," Harry pointed out, failing to hide a grin.

"I didn't! George did." Ron protested, almost choking on his pumpkin juice to declare his innocence.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but before her pupils could finish their circuit, she spotted Pansy Parkinson across the room, giving her a filthy look. _If looks could kill_, Hermione thought, _I'd be dead_. Then she saw Draco, sighing over his Cheeri-owls, and her heart jumped to her throat. Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her age for no reason. She had enough sense to link the two, but she didn't dare to believe it.

Draco was good-looking, she supposed. His unusual colouring, his stormy-grey eyes... But what was he doing, looking at her like that? An awful thought crossed Hermione's mind. It was probably a cruel Slytherin trick, designed for her to make herself look stupid. Yes, that was it, she could never get involved with someone like Malfoy.

"And, lucky you, we've got Transfiguration first," Harry told Ron.

"_Double_ Transfiguration," added Hermione.

"This day could not get any worse," grumbled Ron, as the bell rang for the first lesson and the school began to file out of the Great Hall.

Whilst the class waited for Professor McGonagall, Hermione heard a screech of laughter from Pansy behind her. "Her?! Kind of pretty?!" she cackled. "And I suppose Longbottom's a genius now, is he?"

Hermione didn't deign to turn around and steadily faced the wall opposite her. She was glad to get away from Pansy's awful voice when McGonagall arrived and ushered her class into the classroom. Hermione took her usual seat between Neville and Ron, and emptied her bag of Transfiguration books.

"Settle down, settle down," Professor McGonagall said firmly, flicking her wand at the blackboard – writing appeared there – and uncovering a large cage of guinea-fowl on her desk. The fourth-year mix of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Slytherins were supposed to be changing the birds into guinea-pigs, but half an hour into the lesson, no one (not even Hermione) had succeeded in producing a guinea-pig.

It was just one of those lessons where no one settled into it, and the volume of the classroom rose far above the level that was satisfactory for McGonagall. Her irritated voice cracked like a whip through the class, making most of her pupils jump.

"_Will you pay attention_?" She announced that she wanted their homework essays handed in immediately. About a quarter of the class paled, and each one of those unlucky students straight away received detention with Ron for that night.

Professor McGonagall was not impressed, and decided to let the class know her annoyance through her next words; "Finnigan! Since you cannot act your age around Mr Thomas, you and Goyle will switch places. Miss Parkinson swap places with Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass, if you will be kind enough to stop discussing your nails, you and Macmillan can switch, and Potter, you will move next to Mr Boot."

It took the class a moment's hesitation to digest this information.

"Now!" the teacher commanded. The class was shocked into action by the tone of her voice, and grudgingly a dozen or so people moved.

Hermione found herself next to Draco, in the back row, and the pair both suddenly found their textbooks very interesting. In front of them, she saw Parvati Patil whisper something to Lavender Brown, who let out a shrill giggle. They both looked around at Hermione, Parvati nudging Lavender hard in the ribs as her face worked furiously as she fought not to giggle too. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which Hermione thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just been moved for talking to Ron. She blushed furiously.

Draco and Hermione made a good partnership, despite their differences, and they worked well next to each other. The small talk was minimal, but it didn't seem to matter. There was a friendly air between them, which was a bit disconcerting to Hermione.

Hermione's guinea-pig almost scampered drunkenly off the side of the desk when it realised it suddenly had four legs instead of two. Draco and Hermione both dived to catch it, but it fell into Draco's palms first.

Both of them straightened up, and when Hermione looked at Draco, it was like she was looking at him in a new light. She smiled at him. A week ago, Draco would have just let the guinea-pig plummet to its death, and would probably have laughed about it, but he seemed genuinely pleased that it had been rescued.

He smiled back and Hermione relaxed. By the end of the lesson, Draco could make Hermione laugh at his feeble jokes, and their guinea-pigs were the best in the class (most of them still had feathers, and Neville's looked very odd with its beak).

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone picked up their heavy bags and slung them onto their shoulders.

Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Granger, Malfoy – a word, if you please."

Assuming this had something to do with his essay, Draco proceeded gloomily to the teacher's desk. Hermione looked surprised but wasn't worried; whenever she was called back, it was usually for praise or extra homework, which she loved (honestly, it was fun once you got into it!).

"You made a very good pair today," Professor McGonagall said such to Draco's surprise that he almost fell over, "I was impressed with your guinea-pigs, and, as I have marked your essays, they were the best in the class. Well done!"

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione beamed at her, glad for the approval.

"And can I just say how nice it was to see members of different houses putting aside their differences and behave maturely to work together instead of this ridiculous rivalry. Ten points to Slytherin, and ten to Gryffindor." She gave them both a rare smile. "You may go now, Mr Malfoy, I'd like to talk to Miss Granger alone."

Draco, pleased at the praise he had received, swaggered out of the door. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron were waiting for Hermione outside the classroom, leant idly against a wall.

"McGonagall's got it in for me today," Ron was complaining. "I spent a whole lesson next to _Pansy Parkinson_. That girl's a nightmare!"

"I know, it makes you grateful that Hermione is Hermione, doesn't it?" Harry mused.

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding unconvinced. "I wonder what Professor McGonagall wants to talk about to her and Malfoy though?"

Harry was just about to reply when he heard a lazy, drawling voice ring out from behind him.

"Ah, it's Potty and the Weasel. How are your parents, Scarhead?"

Harry and Ron whipped around furiously, and both would have flown at Draco if Professor McGonagall hadn't chosen that apt moment to leave her classroom with Hermione behind her, and prevent an almost certain fist-fight.

Draco, who had said the words automatically from years of taunting Harry and Ron, immediately regretted them. This was _not_ the way to get into Hermione's favour; bullying her best friends. What was he thinking?

She shot him a hurt and confused look, making Draco aware that she had heard, and he felt worse than ever.

"Move along, move along," Professor McGonagall chided, ushering them down the corridor. "Go and enjoy lunch, all of you."

Draco was left alone in the hallway, looking after Hermione.

There was something about that Mudblo... _Muggle-born_ temptress. She made him spend a little extra time in front of the mirror; walk a little slower when he passed her in the hallway; put an unusual amount of effort into his schoolwork.

"That Hermione Granger," Pansy said at lunch. "I hate her. Look at her over there, all smug, with her stupid friends. She's so ugly."

"Yeah," grunted Goyle automatically.

"She's very up herself," Daphne Greengrass said scornfully, fiddling with her hot-pink nails, bought from Madam Malkin's.

"What do you think, Draco?" simpered Pansy.

It was late that night that Draco realised that no matter what Miss Pansy Parkinson said, in fact; his type was that quick, feisty, curly-haired Muggle sort of witch who was too clever for her own good. It was amazing how fast Draco's Slytherin heart could change its opinion of Hermione Granger.

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**A/N: So...? What do you think? Review and let me know! I know it's cruel but I'm not going to upload another chapter until I've got at least ten reviews so if you're interested... please leave a comment! :P**


	3. A Change of Mind

**Sorry for the wait! **

**This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful reviewers and to everyone who followed or favourited this story so far: Alice Ball, EnderBlaze23, meadow-music, isabela144, Luna Tails, Agent Get Amy And Ian Together, Heather3, shadowknight6398, hermoine898, Greek Princess143 and CatchingSparks**

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A Change of Mind

For six days Hermione ignored Draco. She didn't look at him; she didn't speak to him; she didn't acknowledge he existed.

Draco's mood had never been worse, and he felt as though he wanted to crawl under his duvet and sleep for days. His luck seemed to plummet with his humour; he received four detentions within three days; he got in the way of a fifth-year Bat-Bogey Hex and spent half a day in the hospital wing, and he had such a big row with Blaise and Pansy that neither was speaking to him anymore.

Hogwarts carried on as normal, oblivious to Draco's temper. The fourth-years had quite gotten used to it by now, but Neville still shied away from him whenever he stormed down a corridor. Outside, dark clouds rolled over the castle, and a light drizzle continued to fall on the grounds. After a few days, the students got fed up of trying to keep themselves dry and simply walked around Hogwarts dripping wet.

Meanwhile, Hermione's routine remained the same; outstanding grades, friendly bickering with Ron, and lunchtimes spent in the library. She was happy...mostly. A little twitch of regret tugged at her heart whenever her mind wandered to Draco. She forced herself to push the thought away, and to concentrate on whatever essay she happened to be writing at the time.

But try as she might, she could not escape her thoughts when the rest of the castle was silent, and she was lying awake in bed in the early hours of the morning. She had thought he was different, that he had changed, that they could have been friends... Hermione cursed herself for being so weak. She knew she was made of stronger stuff than to spend hours at night, worrying over something as trivial as a _boy_.

She sniffed and rolled over onto her side. This was not like her at all. But then again, hadn't her dad always taught her to forgive and forget. Six days and nights had passed since Draco had sneered at Harry. What did she expect? He was _Draco Malfoy_... as if he would ever change! All the same, thought Hermione, life was too short to hold onto grudges and petty arguments, wasn't it? Maybe it would be wise to acknowledge him at some point, just to go back to the way things were. He wasn't worth the effort of ignoring.

Slowly, Hermione fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

The next day was a Saturday. Almost every student in the castle awoke late to see that the bad weather had passed, and the weak March sunshine was burning through the wispy clouds onto the grounds. Hermione, with her mind firmly made up, walked down to breakfast with Harry, Ron and Neville. When she glanced as casually as she could over at the Slytherin table, she couldn't see a trace of the tall blonde fourth-year she was looking for. Pansy Parkinson was there though, reading the Daily Prophet and talking at Zabini. When she caught Hermione's gaze, her face crumpled into a mean scowl.

Hermione had received too many Pansy-scowls over the years to let them affect her, and she turned back to the Gryffindor table to see Ron scoffing plate after plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. The Weasley twins sauntered up with Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson in tow, and took seats next to Hermione, who was opposite Harry and Neville.

"Guess what we've just heard from one particular Slytherin?" said Fred, dropping into the conversation. Hermione's heart gave a hopeful little jump, and her cheeks flushed, to her further embarrassment. This blush was not wasted on Fred, whose eyes glittered with interest.

"We just overheard from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain that Draco Malfoy has been moping all week and may not be able to play in the match next week, it's not that interesting," said Lee, ruining Fred's fun. "Pass the toast, Harry."

"Oh, but it is that interesting," Fred said slyly, glancing at Hermione who didn't know whether to meet his gaze or to look away. She compromised by taking a large gulp of pumpkin juice. Choked. Spluttered. Turned a dangerous shade of red.

Fred banged her on the back, and swerved the conversation back to the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game which the whole school was excitedly looking forward to.

"Adrian Pucey won't be allowed to play for the rest of the year, after that foul last term," Ron remarked. "Cho Chang was in the hospital wing for almost a week..."

"Don't worry," whispered Fred in Hermione's ear as he bent down to retrieve a dropped fork, "Your name was mentioned; Malfoy hasn't forgotten about you yet."

Hermione shot Fred a dangerous look, but he didn't recoil. He stared back steadily, a knowing smile playing around his mouth. Hermione excused herself for the library, stood up and left without another glance at any of the tables. Instead of turning left to go up the main staircase, however, Hermione turned right in the Entrance Hall, to walk straight out the front doors.

The lawn was bathed in fresh morning light, and the air felt crisp and new. Hermione hurried so fast to get down to the lake that she stumbled and almost fell headfirst down the steep path. Once she reached an old oak tree which waved its branches over the water, she flopped down under it and leaned back against the knarled roots. Hermione didn't know what to think anymore; she was tired of thinking, tired of being the girl who knew everything. She concentrated on breathing deeply, in and out, in and out. The sunlight dappled on her face and warmed her arms, and the breeze stroked her hair and whispered among the leaves. For the first time in a fortnight, Hermione felt at peace.

The twig that snapped nearby jerked Hermione out of her reverie, and she sat up suddenly. No one was in sight; the lawn was empty. She sat up, leaning her back against the tree, and pulled a slim book from her pocket. She read; eyes moving across the page, but she didn't see any of the words printed there.

"Hi," a voice said quietly to Hermione's right.

Draco stood near the water's edge, hands in his pockets, hair carefully slicked back. Hermione couldn't read any expression in his face, but she gave him a little smile as he dawdled on the narrow strip of mud and pebbles.

"I thought there was someone there," said Hermione. "You made me jump."

"Sorry," said Draco, relieved that Hermione had smiled at him. "I wasn't sure if you would talk to me."

Hermione watched him bend down to select a smooth grey pebble.

"I'm sorry I made fun of your friend," he said lightly, skimming the stone across the gently rippling water. "I didn't intend on upsetting you." The pebble hopped seven times, before it sunk out of sight.

"I thought you had changed, you know," said Hermione, replacing her book in her pocket, and leaning back against the thick tree.

"We work too well together to be enemies," Draco said, after a short hesitation. "Even McGonagall said so-"

"Why are you doing this?" asked Hermione suddenly.

Draco stopped. "Doing what?"

"Being nice to me all of a sudden," she said. "You never have before. You called me a Mudblood."

"Call me crazy," grinned Draco, sitting on the grassy bank beside Hermione. "But I like you, Granger."

"_Hermione_," said Hermione. "You know we can't be friends?"

"Says who?" retorted Draco, sounding put-out and tearing up handfuls of grass.

"My friends, your friends, your parents, Snape..." Hermione listed. "To name a few."

"I don't care," said Draco, with a hint of arrogance. "I'll be friends with whoever I want."

Hermione looked at him, wondering what was happening. Maybe Draco really _had_ changed. Maybe not.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I'm trying to decide if I should trust you," said Hermione truthfully, but rather bluntly.

For a moment, Draco looked taken-aback. He laughed, "You can trust me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't mean what I say."

"But you're... you're a _Slytherin_." She blushed. That was possibly the stupidest comment she had ever said.

"And you're a Gryffindor," Draco raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "You have friends in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

Draco grinned, rather cockily, and offered a shocked Hermione a pink-edged curled-up daisy. "A rose for a rose? Or is that way too cheesy?"

Hermione assumed an expression of one who had just been Stunned, but she got over her astonishment far too quickly for someone who had been ignoring Draco for the past week. She giggled, "Pathetic."

Draco pulled a face, and shuffled across the ground until he was sat against the tree next to Hermione. The pair sat outside in the shade, talking and talking. The sun slowly moved across the sky, and the last of the clouds blew away.

Draco threw a piece of toast leftover from breakfast into the lake for the Giant Squid.

"Come on," he said, standing up and brushing off his clothes, "it's lunch. They'll be wondering where we are."

"What?" said Hermione, looking a little bewildered.

"After three and a half hours, don't you think Potter and Weasley will be wondering where you are?" asked Draco, holding out his hand for Hermione to get up.

"Three and a half-!" She got to her feet and looked up at the castle, looming against the light-blue sky above them.

"I know. Who would have guessed we had this much to talk about?"

By the time Hermione reached the Great Hall (a few metres ahead of Draco to spare Ron and Harry the trouble of having a seizure) she was noticeably breathless.

And she wasn't sure if it was from the walk up the grounds or not.


	4. An Unlikely Friendship

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An Unlikely Friendship

Draco barely listened to Pansy as they ate their lunch and lamented over the exam dates that had been put up on a notice-board in the Entrance Hall. Pansy, after finding herself unable to ignore Draco for more than twenty-four hours, seemed oblivious to the fact that his thoughts weren't on her; he was miles away.

Well, metres away at least, where Hermione was sat with the Weasley girl, examining the pink leaflet informing the school of their exam dates. Hermione looked pleased as the two girls poured over the dreaded dates, but Weasley's sister... Ginny (was that her name?) looked disheartened.

Draco wanted to smile at Hermione's strange happiness at the exams, but refrained himself when he caught Blaise watching him. The two had just made up, but the air between them was still frosty, and the last thing Draco wanted was his mates finding out about his feelings towards a Muggle-born, and that Muggle-born _Hermione_.

Hermione felt Draco's eyes on her, and looked up briefly. She returned his smile without embarrassment, and bent her head over her apple pie again.

No, Draco thought, their morning together must be kept a secret. He knew that Hermione wouldn't mention it to Potty and Weaselb- Potter and Weasley, but it wouldn't do to be caught staring at her at meals. That was a bit obvious.

Hermione and Draco kept away from each other that afternoon, engrossed in homework in their separate common-rooms. Just the thought of the morning in the grounds was enough to make Hermione blush. He had been but a breath away; their shoulders had brushed; he had given her a grin that would have melted any girl's insides. She had felt relaxed around him, completely at ease. He seemed to like her, whatever she said or did. He was right; they worked too well together to be enemies. _That_ was the reason they got on so well. Maybe they were more alike than she had thought.

"I am not looking forward to this Easter," Ron was grumbling, as the three of them strolled along a third-floor Charms corridor on their way down for dinner. "Mum says if I don't get all 'Exceeds Expectations' or above in these end-of-year exams, there's no chance I'll get the OWLs I need. She says she'll get me a new broom or something if I get more than ten OWLs; Fred and George only got five each so she's starting up this new policy for me and Ginny."

"If you make a revision timetable, you'll be able to schedule your time," Hermione pointed out, in a very Hermioneish way.

"Or you'll just make one for me," said Ron, nudging Harry in the ribs.

"Ouch, get off," said Harry, but his face darkened when he caught sight of his least favourite person at the end of the corridor.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were marching towards them, looking ugly and menacing... Harry was taken aback. Malfoy had a dreamy, almost starstruck expression on his pale face. He didn't even bother to shoot a nasty look at Harry and Ron as they passed.

"What's up with him?" said Ron scornfully. "Is he in love or something?"

Harry and Ron were too busy sniggering at the idea to notice the soft, slightest smile that had broken over Draco's face when he had caught sight of Hermione. Her lips had twitched back, and she hurried after her friends, wondering why she was feeling guilty.

Thankfully, Ron and Harry were distracted by Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny little owl, who was sat on the top of the banister of the staircase, twittering. He got very excited when he saw them coming towards him, and he zipped around above their heads hooting happily until Ron grabbed him round the middle and stuffed him unceremoniously into the wide pocket of his robe.

Hermione turned to watch Draco's retreating back, and got a surprise when his amused, twinkling eyes grinned back at her. She bit her lip and turned away quickly, hoping she wouldn't make a fool of herself by blushing.

"Stupid little git," Ron muttered, bad-temperedly. "Why is everything I own so rubbish?"

Sunday saw Ron and Hermione out in the Quidditch stands, watching the Gryffindor training session, huddled up in their coats against the wind. Harry zoomed around on his Firebolt while Ron distracted everyone by shouting tips to captain, Oliver Wood. Hermione was bored out of her mind, but she stayed nonetheless, thinking, _supportive friend, supportive friend...supportive friend_.

"We're more than prepared for this match," panted Harry, after swooping to land next to Hermione in the stands. "Oliver's had us train three times a week all year."

They stood in companionable silence as they watched Ron trying to advise Oliver Wood on how best to position the Chasers at the first whistle. Fred and George didn't seem very well-disposed towards their brother at his distractions, and, from their gesturing and yelling, seemed to be having a heated argument with him in the middle of the pitch.

"You'll beat Slytherin no problem," reassured Hermione.

"We better," Harry replied, sounding slightly sulky. "It's the last one before the exams in May, so there's a two month gap listening to them gloat about it if we lose. I don't think I could survive Snape and Malfoy in Potions if we do."

Hermione made a face, and Harry gave her a gloomy wave and took off again, oblivious to the fact that at Draco's name, butterflies had filled Hermione's stomach.

When Ron got back to the stands, he was in a thoroughly bad temper, growling under his breath and whispering words that a polite fifteen-year-old boy should not have known. Hermione knew there was no point staying if both her best friends were being grumpy; bickering would just break out and leave them all annoyed at each other.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione told Ron as she got to her feet, but Ron wasn't listening. He was no doubt plotting all the ways in which he could get back at Fred and George (impossible).

The library was quiet and almost empty. Most of the school was outside, making the most of the sunshine, because even though it was windy, days like this were quite rare in Scotland. The only students in here were fifth-years, jolted into feverish studying for their OWLs by the pink exam leaflets, which had make them realise that maybe some revision was in order. Hermione smiled fondly at the library as one looks upon an old friend, and took her usual seat in the corner. She felt at home in here; the high windows, the beams of sunlight falling on the polished tables, row after row of books, stretching to the ceiling.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Granger!"

Hermione turned when she heard the familiar, drawling voice. Draco stood behind her, looking cheeky.

"Don't disturb me, Malfoy," said Hermione, attempting a cold voice and failing miserably. The smile playing around her lips contradicted her.

"From what?"

Hermione reached up, without moving from her seat and took a thick, dusty book from its place, not bothering to read the title. "This gripping story that I am very interested in!"

Draco sat next to her. "What? _Prefects Who Gained Power_?"

Hermione looked at the front of the book and laughed ruefully. "Fascinating read?"

"Sure. Why don't you do something much more interesting, and help me with my moon chart?" said Draco, pushing the roll of parchment in his hand across the table.

After a moment of studying it, Hermione grinned, "You know you have three Neptunes on here?"

"So you see when I need your help?" said Draco, whipping out his quill with a flourish. Hermione laughed, a little bit stupidly, and replaced the book on the shelf.

They spent a cheerful afternoon in their corner of the library, chatting with their volume turned right down, and laughing as quietly as they could. Even so, they disturbed quite a few fifth-years, who, when they glared at the people who were making all the noise, did a double-take to see Malfoy and Hermione Granger sat together, looking like they were getting on.

"Are you watching the match next weekend?" asked Draco casually, as he finished printing the name of one of Jupiter's moons. "Come to cheer me on?"

"As if!" shot back Hermione, who was feeling rather giggly and quite unlike herself. "I'm going to see Harry."

"Potter doesn't stand a chance," said Draco, trying to stop himself from boasting about the quality of his Seeker skills.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Boys," she muttered. "You can't help but get competitive, can you?"

"Coming from the girl who almost had a nervous breakdown when Potter beat you in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year," scoffed Draco, regretting his words almost as soon as they rolled off his tongue. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Hermione shook her head despairingly. "Hopeless."

They passed an awkward minute or two at the door of the library, saying goodbye before they went their separate ways. Both were privately debating a hug... something ..._anything_, but neither wanted to look stupid by making themselves vulnerable for rejection. Hermione and Draco both had very strong personalities, and despite clashing badly in the past, an unlikely friendship was forming. They had different opinions on so many things, different friends, different loyalties, different strengths, different weaknesses, different families, but they both thought about each other, more than they would care to admit.

But, hey, thought Hermione as she walked back to the common-room in search of Ron and Harry, she had always been told by her mum that opposites attract. She just had to wish, hope and pray that she was right.

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	5. A Mess of Emotions

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A Mess of Emotions

Ron and Harry were bemused. Hermione was acting very oddly. The mysterious thing was that she seemed to be fizzing with some sort of secret happiness; it kept bursting out in little giggles and smiles. It was baffling. They had never seen her like this before, not even when she had been in Gilderoy Lockhart's presence, blushing scarlet and sending him Valentines.

The thought occurred to Harry and Ron at exactly the same moment as they sat in the common-room one evening, playing Exploding Snap and discussing their friend's strange behaviour. They turned to each other in surprise.

"You don't think-?" said Ron.

"She's not-?" said Harry.

"She could be-?" said Ron.

"In love," voiced Harry. "Is she?"

Ron, who had just done an excellent impression of Dudley's old goldfish, snorted and said, "But there's no one in Hogwarts to fall in love with...is there?"

"Nah," said Harry, dismissing the idea. "She probably has something up her sleeve for the end-of-year exams."

Ron didn't reply; an Exploding Snap card had just...well..._exploded_ in his face. He let out a strangled sort of noise, which sounded very like, "Nnnngghh!"

Harry tried to gather up the scattered cards and Ron coughed and spluttered, partially engulfed in a cloud of smoke. As they laughed if off, distractions in the shape of Dean and Seamus came over and challenged them to a game. Hermione – who had never, to anyone's knowledge, been interested in boys and had never had a boyfriend – slipped in through the portrait hole, looking a little ruffled.

Draco had sent her a note via school owl at breakfast, asking if she'd like to help him look for Plangentine petals after dinner, which they had been instructed to collect for tomorrow's Potions lesson. So Hermione, who already had a full box of petals and who never, ever broke the rules of being out of the castle late in the evening, joined Draco for what turned into a two-hour walk around the grounds.

They had walked at least three times round the lawn, Plangentines forgotten, Hermione had lost count. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about...school, books, Slytherin, Gryffindor, friends, teachers, life before Hogwarts... If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have thought, that for those two hours they had never been enemies. She still felt like all this time spent with Draco was still completely surreal; as if three and a half years of hating each other had never happened. She didn't feel like speaking to Ron and Harry with the fuzzy expression in her eyes which she knew she just couldn't get rid of, so she trekked up to her dormitory and went to bed early, dreaming of hundreds of good-looking Slytherins with light-grey eyes that made her heart flutter and her eyes light up.

Meanwhile, Draco was lying awake in his own dormitory underneath the Black Lake. All he had wanted to do was to slip his hand into hers, to put his arm round her shoulders, to whisper secrets into her ear. He had never felt like this about anyone before. It was new. It was exciting. But Draco was aware of what a heady and dangerous feeling it was, especially for someone like Hermione Granger. Maybe he liked her so much because she was so different from any girl he knew. The Slytherin girls seemed a shallow and pretentious bunch compared to Hermione. Maybe he liked the danger of what would happen if someone found out about his feelings for her, a Gryffindor Muggle-born. But all he knew for certain was that around Hermione, he didn't have to pretend to be something he wasn't. He pretended to be a bully around his mates; a good student around Snape, a perfect son around his parents, an all-powerful pure-blood around Pansy and Daphne and the other girls... Around Hermione he could just be Draco.

Just Draco, with all his aspirations, his mistakes, his flaws and his abilities.

No one else he knew could make him feel like that. Maybe this was something? Something to hold on to? Something to keep? But no, what would his father think? What would his friends think? What would Snape think? Being in love (there, he said it) with Hermione meant that he, Draco Malfoy, was a blood traitor.

As Draco fell asleep, long past midnight, broken questions buzzed around his brain like wasps that wouldn't leave him alone.

"You look terrible, Draco," said Pansy, by way of greeting when he wandered into the common-room the next morning.

"Thanks!" Draco ran a hand through his hair and yawned. The dark smudges under his eyes were a stark contrast to his pale skin, and his hair was tousled; it looked like he had been running his hands through it a lot.

He wandered down to breakfast with his normal following of mates; Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pansy, Daphne and Millicent Bulstrode. Halfway along a second-floor corridor, an unwitting Hufflepuff boy had the misfortune to crash into Goyle on his way to the library with his first-year friends. Almost immediately, Goyle had the wide-eyed boy pinned against a wall. The boy's toes just brushed the floor and his eyes popped as he clawed at Goyle's fist, clamped around his throat.

"Little idiot," Daphne said softly, as she watched Goyle eagerly.

Draco glanced at her in surprise, and then looked at the rest of his mates. Crabbe was cracking his knuckles, growling deep in his throat. Pansy was almost bouncing on her toes as she leaned forwards, her eyes gleaming with blood-lust. Blaise's eyes were narrowed and his sneer showed exactly what he thought of the boy.

Goyle brought his fist back, and the boy shut his eyes in fear.

"Stop, you bully!" a fierce voice rang out behind the fourth-years, who all turned to see a brave, but stupid, curly-haired girl, who was obviously a friend of the boy. Her classmates hung back, frightened.

Pansy cackled with laughter. "What did you say?"

"Stop," the girl repeated firmly. "He hasn't done anything wrong. You don't need to hurt him!"

Pansy and Daphne were almost bent double with mirth, but Millicent advanced on the girl, who didn't back down.

"Stop them!" the girl called out. Draco was taken aback to see her looking straight at him, begging for help. He did what was expected of him and turned away coldly. He heard a sickening thump, and a cry of pain.

"I'll tell on you!" the girl shouted. She squealed, and Draco turned back to see Goyle grab a handful of her hair and pull hard. The boy was cowering nearby, cheek flushed, bleeding from his mouth.

A part of Draco's conscience which hadn't showed its head for a long time, pricked him badly, and he clapped his hand on Goyle's forearm.

"Stop," he commanded. "They've had enough."

Goyle obeyed out of habit and dropped the girl unceremoniously on the floor. Draco felt guilty as he led the group away. He couldn't bring himself to look back at the first-years. Why hadn't he done more to stop the bullying? A month ago, he would have joined in the taunting and sneering of the boy and girl, but now he only felt slightly sick. Suddenly he didn't see what they had done wrong to deserve such treatment.

Pansy, Daphne and Millicent were laughing and talking loudly about the incident with Crabbe and Goyle, who looked proud of himself. But Blaise hung back to talk to Draco. His voice was dangerously soft, and he sneered.

"Feeling sorry for those Mudbloods were you? I know you're hiding something, I know you better than anyone."

He walked ahead. Draco stopped. Blaise was tricky, he knew that. His cold, calculating eyes missed nothing, and Draco knew he had to be careful where Blaise Zabini was concerned. If he found out about Hermione... well, the consequences weren't worth dwelling on.

Draco scanned the room automatically when he entered the Great Hall, and immediately caught sight of Hermione. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he took his seat.

Hermione looked better than she had in a long time. She stood up straight and proud, eyes sparkling, hair falling straight and sleek past her shoulders; usually she was bowed down with the weight of at least twenty books and her hair was bundled up into a messy ponytail with the simple aim of keeping it out of her eyes. She felt young and lovely, and beloved. She met Draco's gaze with a confident smile.

Draco flinched and rested his chin in his hands. Blaise was watching him closely, and his eyes glittered maliciously when he saw the direction of his friend's stare. Draco didn't look at Hermione for the rest of breakfast.

From where she sat at the Gryffindor table, feeling a little hurt and a more than little confused, sat Hermione, who couldn't help herself from glancing over in Draco's direction every few seconds. As she grew increasingly perplexed, she glanced over so often; it looked as if she had a twitch. Ginny kept trying to engage her in conversation, but gave up after ten minutes or so of monotonous uninterested answers, and left for the common-room.

"'Mione, what is up with you today?" asked Ron with his mouth full.

"You've been distant all week," put in Harry.

"I'm fine," sighed Hermione, indicating to her friends that she wasn't.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.

"Are you in love?" Ron asked bluntly.

Evidently the idea was so ridiculous to him that he couldn't be bothered to approach the situation tactfully.

"What?"

"Ron," said Harry.

"Are you in love?" repeated Ron sullenly, daring Hermione to say yes.

"It's none of your business," sniffed Hermione snootily.

"Who is he?" Ron huffed.

Harry could tell they were approaching tender bickering territory, and he hoped Ron wouldn't pursue the topic.

"No one, and I wouldn't tell you even if there was!" Hermione said, exasperated.

"More pumpkin juice, Hermione?" cut in Harry, his poor distraction technique sounding feeble, even to his own ears.

"We have a right to know who you're going out with!" snapped Ron.

"You don't know what you're talking about," scoffed Hermione, just as angrily. "And let's get this straight. It's none of your business who I go out with, even if I was, and you have no 'right' to know-"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Get your long nose out of my business and stick it somewhere else!"

Ron turned purple, and would have drawn his wand if he hadn't known very well that Hermione could beat him in a duel with her hands tied behind her back.

Sitting next to Ron, Harry felt as if he was watching an unpleasant tennis match between his two best friends. He wanted to shake Ron for being such a prat, and yell at Hermione for acting strangely. He didn't do anything as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, glared over at the Slytherin table, and flounced out of the room, heaving her bag over her shoulder.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, his colour draining rapidly now that Hermione had gone. "What's got her wand in a knot?"

Harry just rolled his eyes, and bit the end of his sausage.

Over the other side of the Great Hall, Draco, who had watched Hermione march out, felt more despondent and dejected than ever. He couldn't get her image out of his mind, but Blaise's brooding expression stopped him from running after her. He knew he had to convince his friend that nothing was happening between him and Hermione, but he knew he would pay dearly for it later. So, Draco, feeling utterly hopeless, ignored her all through Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures.

Hermione, hurt and bewildered at Draco's lack of attention, cold-shouldered him all day, and in return was treated with an icy, sneering indifference. What was more, Ron seemed to have become as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Screwt.

Harry couldn't help but smile when in Charms, Hermione's cushion, which they were supposed to be Banishing, flew over and whacked Ron in the face with a resounding _flump_. He had reason of suspicion because Hermione had been making her pile of cushions soar across the room and land perfectly in the box they were supposed to be aiming for. Harry caught her eye and grinned, and after releasing her feelings towards Ron, Hermione became much friendlier to the pair of them.

Her unusually straight and shiny hair had curled back into its normal bushy mane by lunchtime, and she and Ron seemed to have wordlessly reconciled after Hermione assured them both that she wasn't in love, and she wouldn't consider a boyfriend right now. She said all this unnecessarily loudly, causing Pansy Parkinson, who was passing with her group of Slytherins, to laugh and say, "That's good, seeing as I can't think of anyone who'd want to go out with her! She's too ugly."

Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were used to Pansy's poisonous tongue, ignored her, but once they were back in the common-room, Draco gave Pansy a hard time for picking on Hermione, by ignoring her all evening and making her flush angrily when he indirectly made a sneering comment about her father's job.

And Hermione, who was well aware that Draco had heard what she said, didn't feel any sense of satisfaction, only a hard knot of regret which settled in her stomach and refused to budge for the rest of the evening.

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	6. Gryffindor vs Slytherin

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Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

Draco remained dejected and unresponsive all week. He didn't know what to do. This was a very new situation for him, and he didn't know how to approach it in a way that would get him what he wanted. And this time was different; what he wanted was Hermione. When she passed him in the corridor, her eyes slid past him as though she couldn't see him at all. He had never been invisible to anyone before and every time, it hurt not only Draco, but Hermione too. A faint feeling of nausea rose in her stomach, and her eyes ached with tears she was too proud to cry. But most of all, they missed each other.

"Draco!"

Draco had been wandering aimlessly towards the library, which had now become his favourite haunt, in the hope that he could just see Hermione, even if she refused to talk to him. Draco didn't blame her; he had been a prat. When he heard the voice, his heart leapt hopefully, but spinning on the spot showed not the welcome form of Hermione but the huge, slightly irritated figure of Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin team, who was marching towards him.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want?" sighed Draco, turning away slightly. He didn't feel like having to deal with this right now.

"Draco, what is wrong with you?" hissed Flint. "You've been like this for weeks now. And whatever it is, it's affecting your Quidditch. We need a Seeker who can beat Gryffindor whatever the cost, not one who sulks in the corner. I _will_ have to replace you."

"Go on then!" snapped Draco. "I don't care."

"What is up with you?" scowled Flint, looking like he had better things to be doing than dealing with depressed fourth-years. "I will go to Snape if you-"

"No!" said Draco suddenly, giving Flint his full attention. "Don't go to Snape! I'll improve!"

"Good," said Flint, knowing that he had discovered the one blackmail to use against Draco. He looked down at his Seeker with an expression that could have been fondness if years of sneering at people hadn't permanently distorted his features. He lumbered away, hoping the threat would be enough to jerk Draco into action.

Draco did not want Flint talking to Snape about it. He knew his godfather would either use Legilimens against him or write to his father, the one person he definitely did not want finding out about Hermione.

The Slytherin Quidditch practise held that same afternoon, the day before the match, was the best in the long time. Draco was quick and light on his broom, the Keeper saved almost every single shot, and the Chasers fought fiercely to score whilst the Beaters swung their clubs with all their might. Flint looked on with satisfaction. This was the team he had wanted to see.

Meanwhile, Hermione, who had been joined in the common-room by Harry, Ron, Angelina Johnson and the Weasley twins, wasn't feeling very well. She was experiencing the strange sensation that she was floating, that she wasn't as solid as she usually was. Her head throbbed.

"...Turns out Adrian Pucey is playing," George was saying. "Snape gave him the all-clear last week."

"Typical," Ron muttered a couple of swear words under his breath to express his feelings toward Snape.

"We've trained hard," said Angelina, encouragingly, "We'll beat Slytherin no problem if-"

Hermione stood up suddenly. The Weasleys, Harry and Angelina looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry," Hermione said, before the world lurched on its side.

"Hermione!"

Harry and Ron caught hold of her elbows and held her steady.

"Sorry," Hermione repeated, rather dreamily. "I'm going to bed. I have a headache."

"Do you think she's all right?" Harry asked worriedly, as they watched Hermione disappear up the girls' staircase.

"I hope so," Ron replied.

But their concern didn't last long because Lee Jordan bounded up with his hands cupped around what looked like a bright purple poisonous toad, which was obviously not feeling too good either, as it was lying on its back gulping wetly.

After a wasted evening trying to revive the toad, Ron and Harry left for bed. Harry spent the night wide-awake and worrying about the upcoming match; Ron dreamed that he was lost in a maze with fifty or so acromantulas set loose; Hermione's sleep was dreamless but she barely moved the whole night long; Draco, exhausted and sore, tossed and turned and tried to push Hermione out of his mind's eye.

The Saturday dawned hot and bright, but Harry and Draco couldn't enjoy the weather as Ron and Pansy tried to persuade them to eat breakfast on opposite sides of the Hall. The Great Hall was full of the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match and the delicious smell of fried sausages.

"You have to eat something," said Ginny brightly, tucking into her sausages.

"Yeah, the Slytherins won't play cleanly," added Seamus. "You'll need your strength."

"I'm not hungry," mumbled Harry, feeling sick.

"Where's-" began Ginny, looking up and down the Gryffindor table, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Dean Thomas.

"Come on, let's go and get the best seats," he said, and the group all stood up.

"Good luck, mate," Ron clapped Harry on the back, and left with Neville, Seamus and Dean to leave for the Quidditch pitch.

As Draco followed Flint and Pucey down to the changing rooms, he felt his heart skip with familiar nerves. He wasn't a fool; he knew the Gryffindor team was very good and Slytherin would have to work hard to beat them. But Draco wasn't sure if he wanted to beat Gryffindor this time; Hermione would like him even less.

By eleven o' clock the whole school was out in the stands, already waving their banners and flags and scarves. One side of the stands was solid red and gold; the other side a sea of green and silver. Many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had taken sides too, and every voice was cheering and booing alternately as both teams soared out into the bright sunlight.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. "Right, I want a nice fair game from all of you, as usual. Captains shake hands, please."

Angelina didn't let herself wince as Flint tried to crush her hand.

"Mount your brooms, please."

The teams clambered onto their brooms, and Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. The game had started!

"And the Quaffle is taken by Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor and she's really zooming along up there, a neat little pass to Demelza Robins – who is filling in for captain; Angelina Johnson, who has taken up the position of Keeper-" Lee Jordan was commentating as usual, under the ever-watchful eye of Professor McGonagall. "She dodges Chaser Warrington, swerves past Slytherin captain Marcus Flint, look at the girl go – oh, no, she's dropped it – caught by Gryffindor's Katie Bell, thank goodness – WATCH THAT BLUDGER KATIE! Quaffle taken by Montague of Slytherin and off he goes, pass to Flint – he's flying like an eagle up there – HE'S GOING TO SC- no, stopped by Keeper Johnson in just the nick of time – nice move Angelina – and Gryffindor has the Quaffle-"

Draco circled the pitch like a hawk, looking for the glint of gold and the flutter of wings. Potter passed him more than once, and they scowled at each other every time. He looked for Hermione in the Gryffindor stands, but all he could see was Weasley, Thomas, Longbottom and Finnigan jumping up and down like lunatics, whistling Gryffindor and jeering Slytherin.

"Spinnet is in possession of the Quaffle – she's really flying, dodging a speeding Bludger courtesy of Slytherin Beater Terence Higgs – GO, ALICIA, GO! – there's a clear field, just the goalposts ahead – Keeper Bletchley dives – he misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

The Gryffindor stands erupted, mingled with the howls of the Slytherin team. Draco spun around in mid-air to see Lee yelling the commentary. "Ten-nil to Gryffindor! Well done Alicia! – WATCH OUT! FOUL!" Lee howled indignantly.

Higgs had released his feelings by whacking a Bludger hard in Alicia's direction. It slammed into her, and almost knocked her broom.

"CHEAT! WHAT A DISGUSTING FOUL!" Lee was screaming, "That's got to be a free shot for Gryffindor! Only Slytherin would attempt such an open and revolting bit of cheating! COME ON REF! – What, Professor? I'm only telling it as it is-"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you_-"

Gryffindor's free shot made the score twenty-nil, and play resumed at a more furious level. Half an hour later, Slytherin had scored several times too, and Gryffindor was only leading by seventy points to Slytherin's sixty.

Draco rose suddenly to avoid a Bludger, and then he saw it, the Snitch, fluttering near the ground by the teacher's stand. He dived suddenly and zoomed towards it.

"Chaser Bell drops the Quaffle – bad luck, Katie – caught by Warrington who shoots off down the pitch – he aims, come on Angelina – Slytherin scores!" yelled Lee. "And that equalises the score seventy-seventy. But wait, what's this? Has Slytherin Seeker spotted something? Draco Malfoy zooming towards the ground over there – Potter belts after him-"

Harry and Draco were soon neck and neck, flying flat-out for the Golden Snitch, which was zipping away from them, about a metre from their outstretched fingers. The crowd screamed.

"COME ON HARRY!" shouted Lee, abandoning all attempt at unbiased commentary and dancing out of Professor McGonagall's reach. "YOU CAN DO IT!"

"Get off, Malfoy!" yelled Harry, trying to swerve away from Draco, who only then realised that he had grabbed hold of the tail of Harry's broom by force of habit.

He let go, leaned forward, wishing his broom could go just a little bit faster. Draco and Harry dispersed suddenly, dodging a Bludger that had shot towards them like a cannonball, and suddenly Draco was ahead, the Snitch centimetres from a Slytherin win...

_Hermione._

The thought jolted through his head like an electric shock, and Slytherin paid dearly for his lapse in concentration.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Lee roared, jumping up and down. "WHAT A CATCH! HARRY POTTER PROVES HIS SEEKER SKILLS YET AGAIN!"

The crowd bellowed. Harry held up the Snitch in triumph, soaring into a scrum of Gryffindor players who encircled him in a huge group hug. The crowd of Gryffindors began to surge onto the pitch as the team floated to the ground.

Draco, heart in his mouth and looking everywhere he could for Hermione, slowly hovered to a halt a little way off. He felt the familiar feelings of resent and anger mixed with his hurt pride, but he also felt a sense of bittersweet hope that his actions would guide Hermione back to him.

He watched as Ginny Weasley came sprinting across the pitch to Harry Potter, Ron in tow. But where was Hermione? Draco saw them exchange words, and then, looking alarmed, the three of them raced away, leaving the Gryffindors to celebrate. Draco hurried off the pitch too, tailing Potter and the Weasleys. He followed them, several steps behind, to the hospital wing.

He heard Potter yell, "Hermione!" before the heavy door swung shut behind them. Draco's heart stopped in his throat, but he couldn't do anything, not with Hermione's friends in there.

Draco spent an anxious fifteen minutes pacing up and down the corridor outside, until the door opened. He ducked out of sight behind a large tapestry depicting a tall, pale medieval woman and a baby, as Potter and the Weasleys, looking concerned, left the hospital wing, talking quietly. Draco waited until they had turned the corner at the end of the corridor, before slipping into the hospital wing.

It was very quiet and empty, except from a figure huddled in the very end bed, and Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office as Draco entered.

"I'm here to see Hermione Granger," said Draco, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

Madam Pomfrey's smile faded and she looked at him. Draco knew she was trying to decide if he was a friend or not.

Obviously she was satisfied, probably by the fearful expression that had arranged itself on Draco's face, and she said carefully, "She collapsed on her way down to breakfast this morning. She's sleeping now, so don't wake her, but you can go and sit with her for a bit."

Draco, scared at what he might see, walked towards the end bed, his steps getting heavier and heavier.

Hermione lay unmoving in the bed, her face as pale as the sheets; just a shadow of her old self. Draco's heart stopped.

* * *

**My first sort-of-cliffhanger! :)**** What do you think? **

**Review, favourite, follow... the usual song and dance :D**


	7. Nobody

**So...I'm back! Sorry I haven't uploaded in ages, I've had a busy summer. **** Anyway here's the next chapter, it's a very long one to make up for the lack of them, and I've got the creative juices flowing again so keep an eye out for more. Enjoy!**

**This chapter is dedicated to every single person who's read this far! :D That's YOU!**

**(Don't own, don't make any money - no copyrighting, just a completely obsessed fan!)**

* * *

The Nobody

"Hermione?" Draco croaked.

The familiar face stirred into a smile; obviously Hermione wasn't sleeping. "Draco," she whispered, and opened her eyes.

"Hermione," he gasped in relief. "I was so scared."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," she grinned, looking better by the second.

The relief Draco felt was so great that he felt like it was his birthday, the last day of school and Christmas, come all at once. "I'm so sorry for ignoring you! I didn't know what my friends would think."

"I understand," said Hermione simply, regarding Draco with her brown eyes and wondering how she had managed to be so cold and indifferent to him before. "I'm sorry too."

Draco, his heart soaring, vowed then and there that he would never do anything to hurt Hermione ever again. With all the uncertainty and shyness of a first relationship, he reached out and gently covered her hand with his. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough for Hermione. She, too, forgot all animosity instantly, and she beamed at him.

"I heard there was a Gryffindor win," she said, conversationally. "Did that have anything to do with you?"

Draco, who, two months ago, would have launched into a detailed and exaggerated story of his heroic sacrifice, checked before the words tumbled out of his mouth. It still cost him a lot, however, to shake his head and insist that it didn't. Hermione just smiled her knowing smile and shot him a surprisingly provocative look from under her eyelashes.

"Harry told me that you were very close to the Snitch right at the end," she remarked lightly.

Draco grinned. "I'll probably be kicked off the team now," he said, but that was fine with him. All that mattered was that Hermione knew that what he had done was for her.

"You don't seem as disappointed as I thought you'd be," she said casually, lowering her gaze.

"No," he agreed. "I don't need the Slytherin Quidditch team in my life." He paused, deliberating a cheesy line. "But I do need you."

Hermione flushed bright red, and all the colour she had lost from her faint returned in an instant. Draco felt like admiring the affect he had on her but stopped himself quickly. He wanted, no, _needed_, to show her that he had reformed completely; he was nothing like his old, selfish, self.

Draco stayed with Hermione for as long as he dared without raising suspicion; in fact he would have stayed longer, but Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office to see how Hermione was, and shooed him away. Just as he opened the door and turned to wave at Hermione in her bed, he found the medi-witch at his elbow.

"Whatever you did, Mr Malfoy," she said. "It's done her a world of good, so I suppose I should thank you."

"When will she be let out?"

"Tomorrow morning, just to be on the safe side," Poppy Pomfrey gave Draco a dazzling smile, which scared him just enough to leave quickly afterwards.

Draco found he had missed lunch to be with Hermione, but he didn't care less. He thought seeing Hermione get better was a worthy reason to miss a meal. In either case, Pansy had saved him some ham sandwiches and Cauldron Cakes, and he gobbled them quickly before inventing a detention with Professor McGonagall to explain his absence.

"Professor McGonagall was in the Great Hall," said Blaise shrewdly.

Draco privately cursed his best friend's quick, sharp-eyed gaze, but coolly told him that McGonagall had left him writing lines in her classroom.

He spent the rest of the day drifting between thoughts of Hermione, thoughts of his Charms homework, tomorrow spent with her and the _Accio_ charm theory, while Pansy Parkinson tried, and failed, to get his attention by flicking her hair around a lot and fluttering her eyelashes so hard and so often, it looked as though she had developed an unfortunate twitch.

When Hermione was let out of the hospital wing the next morning after breakfast, undeniably and completely recovered, she looked bright and strangely excited. However, this was overlooked since most of Gryffindor house were still high on the triumph of winning the Quidditch match. Harry and Ron were pleased their friend was better and glad to see her in high spirits, Harry especially since she and Ron were less likely to bicker if one of them was able to walk away from it.

They were in the common-room, and a small crowd of friends were gathered round Hermione, asking how she was, politely concerned, and telling her they were pleased she was better. The hot topic of Hogwarts that Sunday was still the Gryffindor triumph, so fortunately no one had time to notice that Hermione was a little giggly and a little more concerned with her appearance than she usually was.

Well, maybe her strange behaviour wasn't completely overlooked...

"Who are you in love with?" George Weasley said suddenly in her ear, appearing at her side like a ghost. Hermione almost dropped her book in fright.

"You made me jump!" she exclaimed. "And what are you talking about?"

"Go on," he urged convincingly. "You can tell me. You've been swooning around the place like a lovesick girl for a couple of weeks now." He gave her a hard stare as if that would tell him all he needed to know. "And yet I can't work out who it is. Hermione Granger is being very mysterious and it's driving me half-mad."

Hermione laughed. "Hermione Granger's not in love with anybody. It's nobody. It means nothing."

She turned away from him, to hide the fact that her heart was beating a little faster than usual, before she blushed and gave herself away.

George shrugged and moved away, but a second later, Hermione noticed him skulking with Fred in the corner, talking in low voices. And was it just her imagination or did their gazes keep flicking to her?

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common-room, Draco was feeling particularly cheerful, despite half his house yelling at him for the lousy bit of play that had cost the whole house a much sought-after victory over Gryffindor. Marcus Flint, who could hardly bear to look at him, had taken him aside and hissed that if he so much as fumbled the Snitch in practice, he would be thrown off the team for good.

Draco didn't care. He and Hermione had arranged to meet on the seventh floor at eleven. Hermione reckoned she knew of some sort of room that could appear as anything you needed it to be. Although Draco doubted this, he thought that they could tuck themselves away in some hidden corner of the grounds and have a cosy picnic. Explanations to their friends would be worried about later.

Draco was wandering along a sixth-floor corridor at four minutes to eleven, hands in his pockets, trying not to rush, and so busy thinking about the way Hermione's eyes danced when she talked of SPEW – a subject she had only brought up yesterday – the Society of something of Elfish Whatever, when he walked straight into someone. A tall, expensively-robed, familiar someone with long, blonde hair and an icy expression.

"Father!" Draco exclaimed, in an almost guilty shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father is here to attend a governor's meeting with Dumbledore and I have accompanied him," explained Narcissa, stepping out from behind her husband.

"Mother!" was all Draco could say, his surprise evident on his face.

"I hoped we might see you," she said, and kissed her son. "Are you well?" she continued.

"Very well, Mother," replied Draco, glancing at his father. "And you?"

"Fine, fine," said Lucius. "Narcissa, we're going to be late."

But his wife didn't move. She was staring at Draco with an odd expression on her face. Draco had had enough experiences with odd expressions to know that nothing good ever came of them, and he averted his eyes.

"What's her name?" Narcissa asked suddenly.

Lucius was blank. "What are you talking about?"

Draco, who had always felt his mother kept too close an eye on him and paid far too much attention to his life, now was sure of it. He silently begged his prying mother not to say anything more.

"Anyone can see – surely I've not got it wrong? – I would have put a fortune on you being in love, Draco. I've watched you since you were a boy and I've never seen you look like this."

He blushed a deep scarlet, instantly proving his guilt.

"I thought so," his mother said with deep satisfaction. "Who is it?"

Draco knew for sure that he wasn't yet ready to declare his feelings for Hermione to his parents, and he hesitated. "A nobody," he said.

"Are you in love, Draco?" asked his father unsmilingly.

"Oh no," he said, pretending to draw back at the very thought of it. "Course not. But we've spent some time together and it's nice to have a girl make a fuss of you."

Narcissa raised her pale, arrogant eyebrows. "I'd have thought Slytherin was full of girls making a fuss of you."

Draco bit his lip, torn between truth and lie. But his Slytherin instincts were buried too deep and he gave a careless, conceited laugh. "Oh they all make eyes at me and swear they will die of love. But she...she is a little more...real."

"Who is she?"

"A nobody," he said again. "So I don't think about her."

"Shame you can't just have her," Narcissa said with motherly candour.

Draco did not reply. He was thinking of Hermione's engaging smile. "Yes," he said very quietly. "A shame, but I can't."

After the unhappy incident with his parents, it occurred to Draco that he needed to be a bit more discreet about how he felt. It seemed to him that too many people had guessed already, just from looking at him.

When he met Hermione, who was lounging on a window-seat with a big picnic basket near a wall that was unusually blank for Hogwarts, he was fifteen minutes late.

"I am so sorry!" he said, hurrying up to her, pulling her to her feet and drawing her into a hug. "I ran into my parents downstairs."

"Why were they here?" asked Hermione, not sounding at all put-out at his tardiness. Draco beamed at her; that was one good thing of many about Hermione. She always understood.

"Governor's meeting," he shrugged. "Now, what's this room thing all about?"

Then, Hermione began to do something very odd, much to Draco's astonishment. She closed her eyes and walked past the blank stretch of wall. Nothing happened; she was still facing a mundanely blank wall. She did it again. She moved forwards and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.

"Hermione?" asked Draco hesitantly. "What are you doing? Are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I'm feeling all right," she said. "The Room of Requirement only opens when you concentrate on the room you want to see."

"Oh?"

"Shush," scolded Hermione, good-naturedly. "Or I'll never concentrate."

She walked past the wall. "I _need you to become a picnic hideout for Draco and me_," she said firmly.

Draco's eyes widened. A door had appeared where moments before there had been an empty sweep of wall.

Hermione turned to him triumphantly. "There! I told you so."

She began to heave her picnic basket off the window seat, but Draco took it off her almost immediately. "Why didn't you tell me to bring some food?" he asked. "You shouldn't have had to carry this all the way up here!"

"It's my treat!" giggled Hermione. "And I didn't carry it up seven floors! I Levitated it, and told anyone who asked that I was carrying all my books in it."

Draco grinned as he opened the door for Hermione and gave her a mock bow. "Can't this magical room make any food for us?"

"No," said Hermione, not bothering to go into the Five Principles of Elemental Magic that Ron and Harry had tired of so quickly. "Wow," she said when she walked in.

Draco shut the door behind them both and turned to the Room of Requirement, which had transformed itself into the most secret picnic spot in Hogwarts. A thick rug was spread out on the floor, which had been scattered with hundreds of red rose petals, in the centre of the small, simple room, covered in fat, colourful cushions to sprawl on. A hundred thousand candles flickered from shelves which obscured the four walls from ceiling to floor. A line of golden goblets and plates had been placed on one of the shelves, with a small stack of books next to the cutlery, presumably in case anyone got bored on their picnic. A big, old-fashioned radio stood in one corner, far enough from the candles for there to be no risk of it catching fire. It was already playing a romantic, tinkly tune, and Draco lugged the picnic basket over to the rug.

Hermione followed him, picking up two goblets and two plates on her way. They lay across the rug, leaning on the cushions, and unpacked the basket.

"How much have you got in here?" asked Draco in amazement. "There are only two of us coming, right?"

"I thought you might have a big appetite," smiled Hermione.

They ate a comfortable meal amidst the talking and laughing that they had grown accustomed to expect around each other. Both Hermione and Draco felt completely at ease, and fed each other strawberries until neither could eat anymore.

"There's still a lot left," fussed Hermione. "What am I going to do with it all? I can't return it to the kitchens."

"I'll take it," soothed Draco. "Crabbe and Goyle will eat it, no problem."

She leaned back on a pillow and stared up at the ceiling, which she realised had twinkly little lights winking down at her; constellations of stars, despite it being midday outside. "Have you told your friends about me?" she asked.

Draco shook his head, and copied her position, so close that he could feel her side all down the length of his body. "No, I don't think they'd take it very well. Blaise already suspects something. I think I'll have to force myself not to look so loved-up when I'm around them."

Hermione laughed. "I've had exactly that from my friends too."

"We'll have to tell them eventually, you know," said Draco quietly.

"I know," she replied. "But not yet."

"But not yet," he agreed.

"Pansy Parkinson will probably have a fit," smiled Hermione, looking a little too satisfied for her comment to simply be an innocent observation, and leaning up on her elbow to look at him.

"So will Ron Weasley," he retorted.

"Don't be silly! Ron's not in love with me," she laughed at the ridiculous idea. "He's my friend. Besides, I think he loves Lavender."

Draco shrugged carelessly. "Either way. I don't care. As long as I have you." He reached out and stroked her cheek, so lightly that Hermione could have imagined it. "I was so scared when I thought I had lost you yesterday," he said. "I realised that I never wanted to lose you again."

"And I you," whispered Hermione, barely trusting herself to speak. "We need to get better at communicating with each other. That silent treatment thing was so stupid."

"I felt terrible," said Draco.

"Oh," said Hermione. She smiled suddenly.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I know it sounds cheesy, but this is one of the happiest hours of my life."

Draco glowed. Gently he twisted a strand of her hair away from her face and, with the back of his hand, brushed down her cheek from her temple to her chin, admiring the feeling of her smooth, warm skin.

"I think I love you," he remarked, nonchalantly.

Hermione's cheeks reddened slightly. "I think I love you too," she whispered, as if she could hardly believe that she was saying it. "I feel as if this is some sort of wonderful madness which I am going through and if one of my friends knew they would tie me down until it had passed."

"You think it will pass?" Draco asked, as if it were an interesting viewpoint that he had not yet considered.

"I don't know," said Hermione in a tiny voice, completely and utterly out of her depth. "It's a fancy, isn't it? It's just that it happened to both of us at once. I have taken a fancy to you and if you had not liked me, I would have mooned around a little and made sheep's eyes at you for a while and then got over it."

"Sheep's eyes!" Draco went off into peals of laughter. "I would have liked that. Couldn't you do it anyway?"

"We will laugh at this later," said Hermione, expecting him to argue. In truth she was counting on him to argue that this was a real love, an undying love, and persuade her that she had to follow her heart whatever the cost.

But he nodded, grey eyes sparkling. "A fancy then? And nothing more?"

"Oh," she said, surprised.

Draco rose to his feet. "How soon do you expect to recover?" he asked conversationally.

Hermione stood up too, wondering how her teasing had backfired. She stood close to him. She was drawn to him as if they were magnets to each other, whatever her mouth might say.

Draco grinned, and kept playing the game. "Just think," he said to her gently. "You could be my love. My one and only love. Think of the fun we could have together."

Hermione thought. She smiled, and at once Draco caught at her hand and pressed his thumb against her palm. Despite herself her fingers closed on his hand and they stood for a moment, handclasped in the romantic room, and Hermione thought, like the lovesick girl George Weasley had said she was: '_This is heaven_.'

"If you had told me six months ago that I'd be here with you now, I'd have laughed and told you that you had gone crazy," said Draco. "I never dreamed I'd fall for you."

Hermione didn't want to spoil the moment with words; she wanted it to last forever and ever. Eventually, all too soon, they stepped away, and Draco reluctantly explained that there was a stack of Defence Against the Dark Arts homework waiting for him in the Slytherin dormitory. He grabbed hold of the picnic basket, and followed Hermione out of the Room of Requirement; after she had checked that they wouldn't be seen leaving the room together by another person or ghost. The moment they were back in the real world, Hermione turned to see the blank wall again. She felt a surge of strangely bittersweet emotion. The best few moments of her life had just ended with the room.

"All right?" asked Draco gently, seeming to understand her feelings as she felt them.

Hermione nodded and the pair of them made their way down the empty corridor. They didn't get far because, suddenly, Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind a ceiling-to-floor tapestry. Hermione was about to open her mouth to protest but then she saw Peeves streaking happily towards Dumbledore's study, cackling and calling, "_When there's strife and when there's trouble, Call on Peevsie, he'll make it double!"_

Draco shifted his hand so that it fitted into the curve of Hermione's. His grip was gentle, yet solidly reassuring at the same time. Hermione's heart thumped. She was all too aware of how very close she was to Draco, and she forced herself to breathe. The usually calm, unruffled Hermione felt the heat rush to her face, and she gently blew upwards to cool herself done. Draco noticed her bright eyes and pink cheeks. He turned to her.

"Phew! That was close," said Draco, moving out from behind the tapestry.

Hermione pulled herself together. "Yeah, Peeves would have told the whole school and more," she said. "It's a good thing you saw him."

"Are you feeling all right?" he checked with her, leaning down to look her full in the face. "You looked a bit flushed under there. I hoped you didn't feel faint." He paused. "You're not getting sick again, are you?"

The concern on his face was so thoughtful and profound, that it was all Hermione could do to stop herself from throwing her arms round his neck. She forced herself to smile brightly. "I'm fine," she said.

"That's good."

There was an awkward silence. Draco shifted his hands on the hand of the picnic basket and his eyes slid around the corridor. Hermione bit her tongue and licked her lips nervously. Her smile faltered.

"Anyway," said Draco eventually. "I'll see you later, okay? I'll give you back the basket tomorrow."

Hermione shrugged. "It's not mine. I borrowed it from the kitchen."

Draco smiled. "Bye."

"Bye."

He fidgeted and leaned forwards. Hermione felt herself being enfolded in a hug, and she gave an inward sigh. Draco ambled down the corridor, turning at the end to give her a wave, and disappeared from sight. Hermione shut her eyes and let herself fall against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and slowly sank to the floor, until she was sat with her back to the wall. She felt a bit dizzy, and she could see orange lights dancing on the black of her eyelids.

She knew that she had desperately wanted Draco to kiss her, but he hadn't, and for once Hermione was at a loss. She had three choices. She could pretend it had never happened. Or she could quietly tell him that she would be happy to let him kiss her. Or she could blow up at him and ruin a beautiful day.

Hermione sighed to herself. She already knew what she'd do. She would ignore the incident and wait for him. If anyone had asked her what she most wanted right at that second, Hermione would have asked to go back in time just ten minutes so that she could have the chance again to lean forward towards Draco.

A gaggle of first-years wandered round the corner where Draco had disappeared, and stared at her inquiringly. Hermione, acting as if it was normal to discover girls all by themselves sat on the floor of a corridor, stood up, brushed her Muggle clothes down, and walked straight past them without a word.

She kept her head down until she reached the Entrance Hall. She had no idea where Harry and Ron would be at this time. Quidditch practice maybe?

Hermione scanned the Great Hall, and made a beeline for Ginny, who was sat with Luna Lovegood and Colin Creevy, working on a piece of homework.

"Hi," she said, sitting down next to Ginny and resting her chin on her hands.

"Hi, are you looking for Ron or Harry?" Ginny asked immediately.

Hermione shook her head wanly, and then sat up straight as a tall, pale boy entered the Hall and looked round with his good-looking gaze. Ginny, who was usually highly perceptive, didn't notice, and began showing Colin where he had made a mistake in his essay.

Draco, who noticed Hermione looking at him, gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod and a quick grin, headed to the Slytherin table where Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Daphne were sat chatting more than they were working.

Hermione's eyes kept wandering over to the group of Slytherins and she shook herself quickly. Not too long after he had arrived, Draco stood up with Blaise and began to leave.

Fred Weasley suddenly appeared at Hermione's elbow. She reflected that the Weasley twins had been sneaking up on her far too much lately.

"What is it this time?" she asked, trying not to watch Draco walk out of the Hall. Fred slyly followed her gaze.

"Is that the nobody that meant nothing?"

She smiled ruefully. "Yes." Then she glared at him. "Wait. No! What?" Fred's broad grin just stretched wider. "I told that to George!" she protested. "Do you two have some sort of spy network to follow me?"

"Not anymore," said Fred in a low voice, not looking the slightest bit amused. "I know what I wanted to know."

"Why are you still here then?" asked Hermione, a little more sharply than she had meant it to come out.

"Don't," he said simply, nodding towards Draco's retreating back. "He's a Slytherin."

"And that matters?"

"Yes," said Fred shortly. "Especially if you were caught."

"I'm hardly likely to roll in a broom cupboard with him," Hermione protested bluntly. "My reputation is as good as anyone's. Certainly better than yours."

Fred gave a wicked grin, and then schooled his features into a more serious expression.

"Then tell him to stop looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive," Fred said. "The man looks completely besotted."

Hermione giggled. "Does he?" she said eagerly. "Oh, does he?"

"Merlin's beard," Fred said. "Coal on the fire. Yes, unfortunately, he does. Tell him to keep it to himself until you've come to your senses and moved on."

Hermione swung her legs over the bench, said a brief goodbye to Ginny, and left with Fred for the Gryffindor common-room.

"But I don't want to," she said.

"What?"

"I don't want to come to my senses and move on," Hermione repeated. "I know it's strange-"

"Mental," supplied Fred, smartly dodging a lime-green Fanged Frisbee as it soared over his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It is different," she admitted.

"It's Malfoy!" said Fred incredulously. "What are you thinking?"

"He's not a nobody," she mused quietly, as Filch shot past them, wheezing and muttering, with Mrs Norris hot on his heels.

This time, Fred was the one who rolled his eyes. "You'll cause a war, you two," he said, straightforwardly. "No one will accept it, and no one will take it lightly. This is a really bad idea; can't you just sit on your feelings until they pass?"

Hermione didn't reply. "I've got to go," she murmured to Fred, and left for the library.

Fred stared after her, shaking his head. Hermione wandered into the library, sat down and opened a book automatically, without even looking at it. Hermione dreamed for a little while, smiling all the while, but when she stood up again, she staggered. And she wasn't sure if she was swooning from the thought of Draco or if something else, something more significant, was going on.

* * *

**Sorry, the first part of this chapter was a bit fluffy, but hopefully it got better!**

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